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Draugen, by Theodor Kittelsen

I have written before about the draug: a waterborne, vengeful (or perhaps simply resentful) creature of folklore, a revenant of the sea dead, forever denied lying at rest in consecrated ground.

The book is now ready for editing: first by me, then by someone else. And then I shall publish it (paperback and ebook). Stay tuned!

Table of Contents

  1. Andreas Faye: Norske folke-sagn, 1844
    • The Draug
  2. Peter Christen Asbjørnsen: Norske Huldreeventyr og Folkesagn, vol. I, 1859
    • The Tufte-folk on Sandflæsa
  3. Jonas Lie: Den fremsyndte, eller billeder fra Nordland, 1870
    • Elias and the Draug
  4. Ole Tobias Olsen: Norske folkeeventyr og sagn samlet i Nordland, 1870
    • The Draug Warns Nils Jamtli
    • The Draug Looses the Boat
    • The Draug Warns of the Skipper’s Death
    • The Draug as Beating Stone
    • The Draug Looses the Jekt
    • Kristensen Husby Strives Against the Draug
    • The Draugs’ Battle Against the Dead on Lurøy
  5. Olaus Martens Nicolaissen: Sagn og eventyr fra Nordland, 1879
    • The Sea Draug 1879
    • The Draug and the Fisher–Farmer
    • The Parson and the Draug
    • The Draug on the Church Road
    • The Draug and the Servant Boy
  6. Jonas Lie: Trold, et tylfte eventyr, 1890
    • Jo in the Sea Holms
  7. Theodor Kittelsen: Troldskab, 1892
    • The Draug
  8. Regine Normann: Eventyr, and Nye Eventyr, 1925/6
    • Power Against Power
    • The Red Castle on the Golden Mountain in the North-West Sea
  9. Knut Strompdal: Gamalt frå Helgeland, vols. I and III, 1928/39
    • Hans the Trondheimer
    • Johan at Kvitnes and the Draug
    • Pe Johannesso and the Draug
    • The Kelp Stone Was a Draug
    • Mekal Pålso and the Draug
    • The Draug Avoids the Filth
    • The Draug Holds the Jekt
    • The Draug on the Way to Lofoten
    • The Wife of the Draug in Her Confinement
    • The Draug at Varholmen
    • His Feet Were Freezing
    • The Draug Was Lent an Axe
    • The Pejord Horse and the Draug
    • The Draug in the Millhouse
    • Evert Laukholm and the Draug
    • The Draug Came in Oil Skins and Sea Boots
    • Draug Pinch
    • The Draug on the Reef
    • The Draug Given a Lift
  10. Dagmar Blix: Draugen skreik, 1965
    • The Draug
    • When the Jekt Aurora Capsized

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Categories Publishing, Legend

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Olav Eivindsson Ausdal (1843–1929)

There was once a boy who arrived at a farm and asked if he might stay the night.

“Of course you may stay,” said the farmer, “but so many trolls are coming here this evening that we shall have to flee, ourselves.”

“Oh, really?” said the boy. “But since I am allowed to stay, then I shall indeed stay.”

“Well, you shall certainly be allowed,” said the man, “and you may eat and drink as much as you like, but we shall flee.”

When they had gone, the boy sat down at the table and began to eat and drink. When he had done so, he clambered up onto a plank between two beams in the loft, and lay down there.

Suddenly a huge number of trolls came tumbling in. Some were big, and some were small, and one was so big that it was frightening, and it had a nose that was so long that most of it lay beneath the table. This troll was the tallest, and should sit in the high seat.

Then the trolls began to eat, and they went down into the cellar for beer. And when they returned, they came with their cups, saying:

“I shall pour you some, Trond! I shall pour you some, Trond!”

“I shall pour you some, Trond!” said the boy – then he fired his gun, and shot off Trond’s long nose.

Then there was such wailing and screaming, and they fussed to haul and drag Trond out. When they came out into the courtyard, there was such wailing, the like of which no one has ever heard.

Then there came a call from away in the mountain:

“What is the meaning of all this uproar you are making?”

And they answered:

“Big brother Berrfjell has lost his nose!”

“Ha, ha, ha!” they replied, and laughed so well.

– Olav Eivindsson Ausdal, Bygland in Aust-Agder, 1913.

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Categories Norway, Folktale

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The eight volume set of Swedish folktales.

The beginning of the following Swedish folktale is grim. It continues as a version of “The Ram and the Pig Who Should Go to the Forest and Live by Themselves” (ATU-130B), with a bit of “The Molly of Dovre” (ATU-1161) mixed in the middle.

But does the parson get his roast?

The Parson’s Roast

A wealthy, though unusually stingy, farmer wanted, once upon a time, to have his children Christened, and he was therefore making ready for a visit from the parson.

“It is regrettable,” he said, “that the parson shan’t have a roast meal when he comes; officials are especially pleased with such things.”

“Oh, we’ll think of something,” answered his resourceful wife. “I know! We can slaughter the cat and tell the parson it’s roast hare. What difference will it make to him?”

The cat, who had been sitting in the kitchen, listening to everything they said, hurried out as swiftly as he could go.

This is among the first Swedish folktales from Sven Sederström’s collection I have translated, and it’s delightful (despite the threat on the cat’s life).

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Categories Folktale, Sweden

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In The Complete Norwegian Folktales and Legends of Asbjørnsen & Moe, I elected to retain the name Askeladden as the hero of “every other one of our folktales,” after considerable deliberation. Previous English translations have called him “Cinderellus” (Chambers), “Boots” (Dasent), “Ashpattle” (Brækstad), or “the Ash Lad” (Nunnally, among others). In the Norwegian first edition of the first volume of the folktales, the collectors standardised his name as Askepot (subsequently used in Norwegian for the character known in English as Cinderella), but as Jørgen Moe mentions, this is a purely Danish term, known but little used in Norway, which the collectors employed in deference to the “common aversion to Norwegian names” in writing.

The various Norwegian collectors heard the most common protagonist called a number of bynames: Askefi(i)s, Askepot, Askeladd, Oskelad(d), and Oskelabb. In each case, the word used is a compound of two roots. The first of these is common to all the names: aske-/ oske- means “ash(es).” Each name takes a second root, either -fi(i)s, which denotes blowing or farting (explaining why Asbjørnsen and Moe demurred from using “Askefis” as the hero’s name), or -lad(d)/ -labb/ -pot, any of which indicates something to to with the feet.1 Tyrihans is another name that Jørgen Moe mentions, “which means Hans who concerns himself with the fatwood” (used to light fires or as lanterns). The semantic domain is the same; whether he is called Askeladden or Tyrihans, he hangs about the hearth, playing with the fire instead of pulling his weight on the farm.

Askeladden as he appears in Ivo Caprino’s puppet films.

A number of ideas concerning the significance of the Askeladden character have been suggested over the years. Due to his status as the family’s underdog, who, despite the contempt of the rest of the family, and thanks to his tenacity, quick-wittedness, and heart, emerges victorious at the end of the folktale, Norwegians were quick to embrace the figure as an embodiment of the national spirit. This view ignores the inconvenient fact that Norway won its independence, not by exercising the qualities we see in the Askeladden figure, but as an unintended side effect of European Realpolitik in the wake of the Napoleonic wars.

Other ideas include the notion of Askeladden as a parallel to heroic figures from the Old Norse sagas.2 The descriptions of some of the heroes of the sagas are quite similar to those of Askeladden of the folktales. Such descriptions are not seen in heroic poems, where the heroic figure is rather nurtured as such. Knut Liestøl assumes therefore that Askeladden of the folktales was used for a literary model in the sagas. This would give a very early date for the figure of Askeladden, however, and the development may well have been in the opposite direction – Askeladden developing from the sagas, rather than the sagas coming from the folktales. In either case, it does not explain the name.

Because Askeladden has been so highly regarded throughout the years, Norwegians have lost sight of the inconvenient fact that the byname is an insult. Well, it was at one time.

Regine Normann, in her two-volume collection of legends, demonstrates nicely how, as late as the 1920s, playing in the hearth was considered an oddity, associated with indolence. The byname was a taunt:

Our eldest brother died of a throat infection when he was nine years old. Father was so afraid that things would go the same way with Mekkel and with me that we were barely allowed beneath the open sky in the mildest of bad weather. Do you remember, Mekkel, how excited we were when we once in a while got to go out and play with the other children, and how they made fun of us and called us stoveblowers? And it didn’t help to ask to be allowed to wear less; our parents were unwavering.

– Regine Normann. “The Mislaid Breadknife” in Legends from Arctic Norway (my emphasis).


  1. The modern Norwegian words pote and labb both mean “paw;” the now obsolete ladd referred to a woollen sock with a stiffened sole, worn around the house – a house slipper. None of these words has anything to do with a male youth, unlike the English “lad” so often preferred by other English translators. English “lad” is derived from the same Germanic root as the Norwegian term ladd, but has evolved in a different direction: Middle English ladde (“foot soldier, servant; male commoner; boy”), from late Old English *ladda (attested in Old English personal byname Ladda), from Proto-Germanic *laidō (a way, course, route, direction). There is no indication that Norwegian ladd has ever occupied the same semantic domain as the English term.   [Return]

  2. See Knut Liestøl. The Origin of the Icelandic Family Sagas. Oslo: Instituttet for sammenlignende kulturforskning, 1930, p. 166ff.   [Return]


Previously: Today You Learned (#1): Not all Asbjørnsen & Moe is Asbjørnsen & Moe.

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Categories Folktale, Norway

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Cover of Anna Wahlenberg’s Länge Länge Sedan.

Three book covers.

Having published The Complete Norwegian Folktales and Legends of Asbjørnsen & Moe, I decided to take a look at the state of the folktales and legends of Norway’s closest neighbour. Despite Sweden being so close, we seldom hear of their folklore, for unlike Norway, Sweden never produced anyone with a vision like that of Asbjørnsen and Moe. Consequently, there is no single edition of folktales and legends that is widely understood to be Sweden’s national collection. Even so, various collectors have recorded traditions from across Sweden, beginning in the early half of the nineteenth century. I know of 43 volumes of these folktales; I own many of them.

The absence of a national collection of folktales is on the one hand regrettable, for Swedes do not rally around any particular book as representative of their identity (although they never were never deprived of their national identity, unlike the Norwegians), but on the other hand, it gives a publisher or translator like me the freedom to collate novel collections from across the entire archive of folktales. Which is, in the fullness of time, what I have a mind to do. In fact, why not several shorter collections?

Several collections of Swedish folktales have been published in English translation. The earliest of these is Benjamin Thorpe’s Yule-Tide Stories, which anthologises the folktales recorded by Gunnar Olof Hyltén-Cavallius and George Stephens (published in the original in 1849) with folktales from Norway, Denmark, and northern Germany. Among other compendiums we find Herman Hofberg’s Swedish Fairy Tales (1890), translated by W. H. Myers, which consists largely of local legends, arranged by region of origin, rather than folktales in the strict sense; Hans Lien Brækstad’s translation of some of Nils Gabriel Djurklou’s folktales, in Fairy Tales from the Swedish (1901); Helena Nyblom’s Jolly Calle and Other Swedish Fairy Tales (1912); and The Swedish Fairy Book (1921) by Clara Stroebe and Frederick H. Martens.

Unlike my edition of Asbjørnsen & Moe, which produced something new – the first complete English translation of these celebrated tales and legends – any edition of Swedish tales that I decide to produce will merely add to the number of relatively informal collections published so far. My feeling is that such a publication does a disservice to the tradition bearers (whose work deserves better treatment than to be thrown into a melting pot of “Swedish folktales”), the collectors (ditto), and the folk narratives themselves (the result of a long succession of people learning and transmitting these stories). If I am going to publish a collection of Swedish folktales, I want to do it in a way that I find worthy of the traditions; I’m not interested in turning a quick buck.

Just how I intend to achieve this aim is as yet unknown. The idea is maturing within my thoughts. More to follow, no doubt.

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Categories Sweden, Blogging